tunic.
«Thanks a lot,» said Shea. «You just saved our lives, in case you wondered. How did you happen along?»
«Twas Laeg came to me with a tale of three strangers, who might be Fomorians by the look to them, and they were like to be set on by the Lagenians. Now I will be fighting any man inIreland that gives me the time, but unless you are a hero it is not good to fight at five to two, and it is time that these pigs of Lagenians learned their manners. So now it is time for you to be telling me who you are and where you come from and whither bound. If you are indeed Fomorians, the better for you — King Conchobar is friends with them this year, or I might be making you by the head shorter.»
Shea searched his mind for details of the culture pattern of the men of Cuchulainn’s Ireland. A slip at the beginning might result in their heads being added to the collection bumping each other in Laeg’s bag like so many cantaloupes. Brodsky beat him to the punch.
«Jeepers!» he said, in a tone which carried its own message. «Imagine holding heavy with a zinger like you! I’m Pete Brodsky — give a toss to my friends here, Harold Shea and his wife Belphebe.»
He stuck out his hand.
«We do not come from Fomoria, but from America, an island beyond their land,» said Shea.
Cuchulainn acknowledged the introduction to Shea with a stately nod of courtesy. His eyes swept over Brodsky, and he ignored the outthrust hand. He addressed Shea. «Why do you travel in company with such a mountain of ugliness, dear?»
Out of the corner of his eye, Shea could see the cop’s wattles swell dangerously. He said hastily; «He may be no beauty, but he’s useful. He’s our slave and bodyguard, a good fighting man. Shut up, Pete!»
Brodsky had sense enough to do so. Cuchulainn accepted the explanation with the same sad courtesyand gestured toward the chariot. «You will be mounting up in the back of my car, and I will drive you to my camp, where there will be an eating before you set out on your journey again.»
He climbed to the front of the chariot himself, while the three wanderers clambered wordlessly to the back seat and held on. Laeg, having disposed of the head bag, touched the horses with a golden goad. Off they went. Shea found the ride a monstrously rough one, for the vehicle had no springs and the road was distinguished by its absence, but Cuchulainn lounged in the seat, apparently at ease.
Presently there loomed ahead a small patch of woods at the bottom of a valley. Smoke rose from a fire. The sun had decided to resolve the question of what time of day it was by setting, so that the hollow lay in shadow. A score or more of men, rough and wild-looking, got to their feet and cheered as the chariot swept into the camp. At the center of it a huge iron pot bubbled over the fire, and in the background a shelter of poles, slabs of bark and branches had been erected. Laeg pulled up the chariot and lifted the head bag with its lumpish trophies, and there was more cheering.
Cuchulainn sprang down lightly, acknowledged the greeting with a casual wave, then swung to Shea. «Mac Shea, I am thinking that you are of quality, and as you are not altogether the ugliest couple in the world, you will be eating with me.» He waved an arm. «Bring the food, darlings.»
Cuchulainn’s henchmen busied themselves, with a vast amount of shouting, and running about in patterns that would have made good cat’s cradles. One picked up a stool and carried it across the clearing; a second immediately picked it up again and took it back to where it had been.
«Do you think they’ll ever get around to feeding us?» said Belphebe in a low tone. But Cuchulainn merely looked on with a slight smile, seeming to regard the performance as somehow a compliment to himself.
After an interminable amount of coming and going, the stool was finally established in front of the lean-to. Cuchulainn sat down on it and with a wave of his hand, indicated that the Sheas were to sit on the ground in front of him. The charioteer Laeg joined them on the ground, which was still decidedly damp after the rain. But, as their clothes had not dried, it didn’t seem to matter.
A man brought a large wooden platter on which were heaped the champion’s victuals, consisting of a huge cut of boiled pork, a mass of bread, and a whole salmon. Cuchulainn laid it on his knees and set to work on it with fingers and his dagger, saying with a ghost of a smile, «Now according to the custom of Ireland, Mac Shea, you may challenge the champion for his portion. A man of your inches should be a blithe swordsman, and I have never fought with an American.»
«Thanks,» said Shea, «but I don’t think I could eat that much, anyway, and there’s a — what do you call it? — a geas against my fighting anyone who has done something for me, so I couldn’t after the way you saved us.» He addressed himself to the slab of bread on which had been placed a pork chop and a piece of salmon, then glanced at Belphebe and added, «Would it be too much trouble to ask for the loan of a pair of knives? We left in rather a hurry and without our tools.»
A shadow flitted across the face of Cuchulainn. «It is not well for a man of his hands to be without his weapons. Are you sure, now, that they were not taken away from you?»
Belphebe said, «We came here on a magical spell, and as you doubtless know, there are some that cannot be spelled in the presence of cold iron.»
«And what could be truer?» agreed Cuchulainn. He clapped his hands and called, «Bring two knives, darlings. The iron knives, not the bronze.» He chewed, looking at Belphebe. «And where would you be journeying to, darlings?»
Shea said, «Back toAmerica, I suppose. We sort of — dropped in to see the greatest hero inIreland.»
Cuchulainn appeared to take the compliment as a matter of course. «You come at a poor time. The expedition is over, and now I am going home to sit quietly with my wife Emer, so there will be no fighting.»
Laeg looked up with his mouth full and said, «You will be quiet if Meddling Maev and Ailill will let you, Cucuc. Some devilment they will be getting up, or it is not the son of Riangabra I am.»
«When my time comes to be killed by the Connachta, then I will be killed by the men ofConnacht,» said Cuchulainn, composedly. He was still looking at Belphebe.
Belphebe asked, «Who stands at the head of the magical art here?»
Cuchulainn said, «It is true that you said you have a taste for magic. None is greater, nor will be, thanUlster ’s Cathbadh, adviser to King Conchobar. And now you will come with me to Muirthemne in the morning, rest and fit yourselves, and we will go to Emain Macha to see him together.»
He laid aside his platter and took another look at Belphebe. The little man was as good with a trencher as he was with a sling; there was practically nothing left, and he had had twice as much as Shea.
«That’s extremely kind of you,» said Shea. «Very kind indeed.» It was so very kind that he felt a twinge of suspicion.
«It is not,» said Cuchulainn. «For those with the gift of beauty, it is no more than their due that they should receive all courtesy.»
He was still looking at Belphebe, who glanced up at the darkening sky. «My lord,» she said, «I am somewhat foredone. Would it not be well to seek our rest?»
Shea said, «It’s an idea. Where do we sleep?»
Cuchulainn waved a hand toward the grove. «Where you will, darlings. No one will disturb you in the camp of Cuchulainn.» He clapped his hands. «Gather moss for the bed of my friends.»
When they were alone, Belphebe said in a low voice: «I like not the manner of his approach, though he has done us great good. Cannot you use your art to transport us back toOhio?»
Shea said, «I’ll take a chance on trying to work out the sorites in the morning. Remember, it won’t do us any good to get back alone. We’ve got to take Pete, or we’ll be up on a charge of kidnapping or murdering him, and I don’t want to go prowling through this place at night looking for him. Besides, we need light to make the passes.»
Early as they rose, the camp was already astir about them and a fire lighted. As Shea and Belphebe wandered through the camp, looking for Brodsky, they noted it was strangely silent, the elaborate confusion of the previous evening being carried on in whispers or dump show. Shea grabbed the arm of a bewhiskered desperado hurrying past with a bag of something to inquire the reason. The man bent close and said in a fierce whisper, «Sure, ‘tis that himself is in his sad mood, and keeping his booth. If you would lose your head, it would be just as well to make a noise.»
«There’s Pete,» said Belphebe.
The detective waved a hand and came toward them from under the trees. He had somehow acquired one of
